Elephants and Castles

by Alfred Duggan

  He had been waiting for this. Seleucus was a heavy-handed commander, who normally did the obvious. Of course he would wait until Demetrius was fully committed to this assault on the vital pass; then he would try to bottle him up by attacking his rear. Demetrius must be where he could see both actions. Once again he cursed his lack of competent subordinates. The ridge was a stiff climb for a convalescent.

  On the crest he sent his slingers hurrying back, and panted after them.

  The pikemen of his rearguard had formed phalanx. Thorax had posted them well, in a narrow gut between low cliffs. Seleucus hadn’t a chance; all the textbooks said that no frontal attack could break a phalanx, provided its flanks were secure.

  That was disturbing, when you came to think it over. Seleucus fought by the book; or rather, the books described his tactics, and the tactics of other generals who had served the great Alexander. He would not push a column against a phalanx strongly posted. Was he trying something novel, perhaps something with elephants?

  The enemy was not far off - cavalry, by the cloud of dust. Now that was sheer suicide - horse charging a steady phalanx. But gallant young officers sometimes thought their men could do it. Demetrius saw the obvious explanation: old Seleucus had lost control of his cavalry, and some hero was trying without orders to bring off an impossible feat of arms. He sat down comfortably on his ridge to watch the inevitable disaster.

  What came out of the dust-cloud were light four-horse chariots. They came at full gallop, as though racing in the Games. This must be the Persian secret weapon, which he had never seen before though many veterans spoke of it. Scythe-blades stuck out from the axles, and spearheads from the body of each car. Seleucus had picked his ground with skill, sending in his chariots where they could not swerve because of the cliffs.

  Everything depended on the steadiness of hungry unpaid mercenaries. If one man turned to flee the whole phalanx would dissolve. Demetrius shut his eyes as the charge crashed home.

  Crashed home, and failed. The drivers were staunch, and their horses had no room to pull out; but flesh and blood could not pierce the level row of close-set pikes. Only a few seconds had passed, but already the phalanx was safe behind a barrier of dead horses and wrecked chariots. The Syrian horse who had hoped to exploit the rout were drawing off. The assault on the rearguard was over.

  ‘Mine is the best army in the world,’ said Demetrius to himself as he returned to the fighting in the pass. ‘I have no money and no food, but with these men I may still restore the empire of Alexander. By the sound of it we have already won the crest. Next month we shall feast in Antioch.’

  He scrambled over the wall of loose stones which the Syrians had held. In a moment he would be looking south into the fertile unguarded land which lay open to his army. Sosigenes came up, grinning with the exhilaration of victory. ‘We’ve done it, Demetrius,’ he croaked from a thirsty throat. ‘You told me not to pursue, and how right you were! Did you know that Seleucus was waiting for us?’

  A mile beyond the southern exit of the pass stood a great palisaded camp, square and black against the green of the young corn. At one side was a wide expanse of trampled earth, on which grey shapes rocked uneasily - the elephant-lines of the Great King.

  ‘We bivouac here,’ ordered Demetrius. ‘This narrow pass seems as safe as any other place within reach of that great army,’

  By sunset his spirits had revived. They had worsted the Syrians every time they met them. For a month Seleucus had been within reach, and he had never dared to offer battle. He was afraid to fight, and rightly. Now was the time to keep up the pressure, when the Syrians were discouraged by the defeat of their chariots and the loss of the pass. He could see it all in imagination - the scattering of that timid army and the swift conquest of rich cities that would follow.

  ‘Tell the men to bed down and get some rest,’ he said firmly to his two subordinates. ‘See that they keep their weapons within reach. The night will be dark. An hour after midnight we assault that camp.’

  ‘The first part will be easy,’ said Thorax with a sniff. ‘There’s no dinner to keep the men from their blankets. They may not be so willing to get up in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Are you going to advance in the dark over unknown ground?’ asked Sosigenes. ‘The books say that’s all wrong, you know. Never move in the dark over ground you haven’t reconnoitred in daylight. I’ve been told it dozens of times. I’ve heard you say it.’

  ‘Did the books say how eight thousand starving men are to defeat thirty thousand well-fed ones? Of course I am breaking the rules, it’s our only chance of victory. We were lucky this morning; perhaps we shall be lucky tonight. Anyway, there’s nothing else we can do.’

  ‘Don’t try the men too high. But I think they’ll turn out for this night attack.’ Thorax went off grumbling and shaking his head.

  Demetrius lay down, wrapped in his cloak. At midnight Sosigenes woke him.

  ‘There’s one bit of good news,’ he said. ‘There are no obstacles between us and that camp. As the light was fading I spotted a group of deserters leaving our bivouac; only a dozen men, not a serious loss. I chased them of course, with some light infantry. They saw us coming, and hurried on to Seleucus. The point is that they ran all the way, so the plain must be level going.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me at once?’ Demetrius was angered by the desertion, but if he could find fault with Sosigenes he would regain his temper. ‘They might have turned back if I spoke to them.’ Then a terrifying thought came into his head. ‘I suppose they didn’t know about the night attack?’

  Sosigenes shrugged. ‘It wasn’t given out in orders, but most soldiers guess what is coming if they are told to turn in early with their weapons handy. Does it matter? I wouldn’t care to murder sleeping men. I rather hope the Syrians are waiting for us.’

  ‘It matters a great deal,’ snapped Demetrius. ‘But it’s too late to alter our plans. Get the men on parade. I’ll take over when they are formed up.’

  The men paraded willingly. An hour after midnight Demetrius led them silently down to the plain.

  They were half a mile from the hostile camp when they heard trumpets and all the turmoil of a great host getting under arms. Without orders they halted, and Demetrius knew that against such odds they would follow him no farther. In savage disappointment he gave the order to return.

  In the morning everyone awoke cross and tired. There was no breakfast, even for the commander. An hour after sunrise the Syrian army issued from its camp and drew up in order of battle. At last Seleucus was feeling brave enough to seek a decision. Without a second thought, since this was what he also had been seeking for so long, Demetrius commanded his army to advance.

  His men advanced in good order, though reluctantly; for they could see the full number of the enemy. It was even more menacing that Seleucus had drawn out his elephants before his line; the great beasts lumbered off to the flanks, ready to surround the attackers as soon as they reached level ground. A single elephant advanced purposefully.

  The silent approach of that single elephant was too much for the nerves of the mercenaries. They halted to watch it. The creature bore a splendid castle, all gilded wood and purple upholstery, and presently Demetrius saw that it carried Seleucus in person. The little old man looked quite sure of himself. Scarcely a spear’s-length from the phalanx the elephant stood still, and Seleucus addressed his enemies.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he called in a ringing military voice. ‘Gentlemen, will you force me to kill the bravest soldiers who ever came out of Hellas? You are heroes, every one of you. From Attica to Syria you have cut your way through countless foes. But now you are at the end of the road. You are without food, without money, without baggage. If I order my elephants forward you must all die. Remember, I know what elephants can do. Before some of you were born I had defeated the elephants of King Porus. Join my army, and I shall treat you as your heroism merits. You have fought gallantly, but you have lost the war. Now it is tim
e for peace,’

  As the great elephant kneeled, little old Seleucus slid to the ground. Over his purple tunic he wore a gilded cuirass, but his head was bare and he carried no shield. Alone he walked up to the levelled pikes of the phalanx. Again he spoke:

  ‘Gentlemen, must there be a massacre? I don’t ask you to surrender. Instead I invite you to join my army,’

  Watching this superb display of courage Demetrius scarcely remembered that his own fortune was at stake. Would some exasperated pikeman transfix this survivor of the great days of Alexander? He came to himself with a start as Thorax tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘The men are going over, Poliorcetes,’ he said, ‘and I shall go with them. It’s only fair to give you a chance to get away. This isn’t desertion. I’m an old soldier, a professional, and I give value for money. You hired me to fight but you didn’t pay my wages. Today I am a mercenary out of place, looking for a paymaster.’

  ‘And you, Sosigenes?’ asked Demetrius in a steady voice. ‘Will you also join Seleucus? You are free to go.’

  ‘I shall stay with you. We have been friends for a good many years. Let’s collect our bedding and servants, and get up to the top of the pass. Then we can decide what to do next.’

  In the empty bivouac they were joined by half a dozen dismounted troopers of the bodyguard, oath-bound Macedonians who put honour before wages. Above the pass they hid themselves in a thicket, and sat down to take stock of the situation.

  'My kingdom grows smaller every day,’ said Demetrius with a lopsided grin. ‘But it doesn’t seem fair to ask slaves to fight for their masters. My servants are now free men. There’s one thing in our favour, no one will take us for an army. Let’s buy food in some village, giving out that we are merchants whose baggage has been stolen by marauding soldiers. We’ll keep to the high peaks and work our way south-west to the sea. Then we steal a fishing-boat and look for that fleet of mine. The sailors may have turned pirate, but they’ll give us a welcome. Any questions?’

  ‘Buy food?’ asked a guardsman. ‘We have no money, and we’re not strong enough to pillage a farm by force.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll have to murder Syrian stragglers and rob the corpses. Not a good opening to a campaign, but there’s no other way.’

  Sosigenes coughed. ‘I have money, quite a lot as a matter of fact, the savings of a courtier’s life. There was nowhere to leave it in Antioch, so I have been carrying it about with me.’ He fumbled under his tunic. The money belt jingled as it fell to the ground. ‘There you are, four hundred gold pieces, the treasure of King Demetrius Poliorcetes.’

  ‘Four hundred gold darics? Why, we are rich,’ cried Demetrius. ‘We can buy horses as well as food. We’ll soon reach the coast, and then I shall be a Sea-King once again.’

  There were no words with which to thank Sosigenes. In middle age he had handed over to his friend all he possessed. It had not occurred to him to divide the money, or to keep back any of it for himself.

  Six days later Demetrius, Sosigenes and two guardsmen sat by the hearth of a charcoal-burner’s hut. The servants had deserted as soon as they had eaten a square meal, and the other guardsmen had fallen over a cliff. Still the kingdom was shrinking.

  ‘We might ride down into the plain and gallop for it,’ said Demetrius.

  ‘With these village nags?’ Sosigenes asked. ‘The troopers would catch us up in a mile. Besides, what’s the good of galloping up to some fishing village, hotly pursued by Syrian cavalry? The idea was that we should creep in disguised as civilian refugees, and steal a boat in the middle of the night. If they know who we are the villagers will tie us up and sell us to Seleucus.’

  ‘Well, what shall we do? The circle is closing. The trouble is that the Syrians know more or less where we are. I suppose our servants told them. It was a mistake to free them. The next time I am bothered by slaves I shall cut their throats instead of sending them away.’

  ‘Don’t blame them too much,’ said Sosigenes gently. ‘If you had been enslaved, wouldn’t you jump at any chance to harm your master?’

  ‘I suppose so. There was a time when I worried about slaves. But it’s not a subject that bears thinking about Well, where shall we go? We can’t break out towards the sea.’

  ‘Unless you intend to set up house in a pine tree you must surrender.’ Sosigenes spoke firmly. ‘It’s not so very terrible after all. Seleucus may kill you, as once your father killed Eumenes. But if he lets you live he won’t torture you, or put you in chains. He isn’t that kind of man.’

  ‘You won’t get much of a welcome.’ Demetrius smiled. ‘You deserted the Great King to join a band of brigands. You’ll pay for that. But there’s a way out. We can kill two birds with one stone. Since I don’t want to surrender, you can take my head to the Great King and claim a reward for killing his most troublesome enemy. Mind, though, that you give the rest of me proper burial.’

  He held out his sword at arm’s length, the point towards his breast. He had only to fall forward and he would be dead without pain.

  He had forgotten the troopers, sitting meekly by the wall. One of them grasped his shoulder while the others seized his wrist.

  ‘I am sorry, my lord,’ said the man in front of him. ‘We took oath to guard you from harm, and that includes suicide.’

  ‘Don’t forget, Demetrius,’ said Sosigenes in a coaxing voice, ‘that you are the New Man, born to Alexander’s new world. You have no superstitions, no ancestral customs. You see facts as they are, without prejudice, without the mists of routine. Old men have said that death is better than surrender, but were they right? Examine the truth with a fresh eye. You are not a hidebound Spartan. If Seleucus intends to kill you, why save him the trouble? If he will detain you honourably why deny him the opportunity to show his magnanimity. Don’t run away to Hades. Take what comes, without whimpering.’

  Demetrius dropped the sword. ‘That’s enough, Sosigenes. You win. Let my faithful guardsmen keep my weapons. Syrian courtiers will give a good price for them as souvenirs. Let’s have a night’s sleep, before we surrender tomorrow.’

  Captain Pausanias was very stiff and military, but he was a Macedonian gentleman who performed an unpleasant duty as pleasantly as he could. He stood at attention, in full armour, but in an impersonal way he was considerate. He was quite willing to talk.

  ‘No, my lord king, you cannot see King Seleucus. He is much occupied. For the present you are to live in the palace assigned to you, until the lady Stratonice, your daughter, and the Prince Antiochus, her husband, have leisure to visit you and arrange your release. Of course you may write to the Prince Antigonus, your son, though I shall have to read the letter. That reminds me. I have here two letters which my lord King Seleucus commands me to communicate to you. One is from Prince Antigonus, offering to yield up all the cities he holds in Hellas, and to surrender himself as a hostage, if King Seleucus will set you free. The offer has been refused. The other is from King Lysimachus, offering to buy your head for a thousand talents. That offer also has been refused. My lord King Seleucus proposes to make public both these letters, so that Hellas, and posterity, may be able to judge fairly the characters of these eminent men. Now here is a clerk who will take down what you wish written to your son.’

  Demetrius dictated briefly that Antigonus should regard him as already dead. His future orders, even though backed with his personal signet, should be ignored. All troops who owed obedience to Demetrius must henceforth obey Antigonus only.

  ‘A very proper letter,’ said Pausanias. ‘I shall forward it at once to Corinth.’

  ‘So now I am dead,’ said Demetrius. ‘But I am a god, you know, as well as a king. When gods leave the world they live very comfortably, with handsome cup-bearers and pretty dancing girls and nectar and ambrosia. In the palace which your lord has placed at my disposal I intend to get into training for my afterlife on Olympus.’

  EPILOGUE

  ‘. . . Demetrius, after living in confinement in th
e Chersonese for three years, died of laziness, surfeit and over-indulgence in wine, in the fifty-fourth year of his age. . . . Even the funeral of Demetrius had an air of tragedy and theatrical display. His son Antigonus, as soon as he heard that the ashes of his father were being brought to him, collected all his fleet and met the vessels of Seleucus near the Cyclades. Here he received the relics in a golden urn on board of his own flagship, the largest of his fleet. At every port at which they touched, the citizens laid garlands upon the urn, and sent deputies in mourning to attend the funeral. When the fleet arrived at Corinth, the urn was beheld in a conspicuous place upon the stem of the ship, adorned with a royal robe and diadem, and surrounded by armed soldiers of the king’s bodyguard. Near it was seated the celebrated flute-player Xenophantus, playing a sacred hymn; and the measured dip of the oars, keeping time to the music, sounded like the refrain of a dirge. The crowds who thronged the sea-shore were especially touched by the sight of Antigonus himself, bowed down with grief and with his eyes full of tears. After due honours had been paid to the relics at Corinth, he finally deposited them in the city of Demetrias, which was named after his father, and which had been formed by amalgamating the small villages in the neighbourhood of Iolkos. Demetrius, by his wife Phila, left one son, Antigonus, and one daughter, Stratonice. He also had two sons named Demetrius, one, known as Leptus, by an Illyrian woman, and the other, who became ruler of Cyrene, by Ptolemais. By Deidameia he had a son named Alexander, who spent his life in Egypt. It is said, too, that he had a son named Korrhagus by Eurydice. His family retained the throne of Macedonia for many generations, until it ended in Perseus, during whose reign the Romans conquered that country. . .

  Plutarch’s Life of Demetrius